A thirst for Oregon’s dry country
White-water rafting and more than enough wineries and scenery
MEDFORD, OREGON — Southwest Oregon was never on my bucket travel list.
In recent years my wife and I have cruised the Mediterranean. Seen Rome and Venice, Santorini and Ephesus. Cruised to Alaska and the Caribbean. I’d like to go to Egypt.
But family is family and my wife’s brother and his partner moved to Medford in southwest Oregon last year after 30 years in Sacramento, and it was time to visit. We’re glad we did.
Oregon may conjure up pictures of mountains and verdant valleys — and they are here. But Medford is arid. It sits in a rain shadow between the Cascade Range and Siskiyou Mountains called the Rogue Valley, about one hour north of the California border. The lack of humidity after a Hamilton summer is welcome.
Daily temperatures were in the mid 30s C, but it was comfortable. At night it would go down to about 16 C. On Day 1, despite our midnight arrival after a journey that began in Buffalo, went to Newark, N.J., then San Francisco and a short hop to Medford, the first order of business is to hike Roxy Ann Peak and get an overview of the valley. Looming over the city, the big park is named after Roxy Ann Bowen, one of the early settlers in the 1850s. Once home to the native Latgawa people, they were forced onto reservations as the fertile, but dry valley attracted farmers, ranchers and gold miners.
Roxy Ann rises like a great Saharan sand dune 2,200 feet above the city. From a distance, its bleached white-brown grass resembles sand. Across its slopes, scraggy black oak, pine and the impressive madrone tree with its paper thin reddish bark, eke out a life, along with a surprising amount of wildlife, including deer. It is now September and the last rain was in late April.
Hawks and turkey vultures circle and watch for small mammals, snakes and abundant little lizards. The climb is gentle and the view spectacular. The valley is green, but only thanks to constant irrigation. Even cow pastures are irrigated. On the north side, Roxy Ann is greener and the growth is richer and affords a far-off view of Mount McLoughlin, a volcanic dome with an elevation of 9,500 feet. The sun beats hard, but it’s so dry the shade is almost cool.
It’s a good start and some Oregon beer takes the edge off the heat back at Frank and Cathy’s. Local breweries offer a wide variety of good ales and lagers. There’s plenty of wine too. Oregon has 600 wineries, a specialty store’s clerk tells me as he offers a sample of a Sauvignon Blanc. I am polite and don’t tell him this sample is not very good, and overpriced. Almost no Oregon wine is under $14.99 US.
Refreshed from a good sleep after leaving the windows open for the cool night air, we head to Lower Table Rock to the northwest of the city for another hike. It’s a volcanic plateau requiring an 800-foot climb. Like Roxy Ann Peak, it was once home to native people. It is now owned by the Nature Conservancy. Marginally signed with interpretive information, it was a slightly tough five-kilometre hike but worth the journey.
More savannah and the stubborn oak line the trail. Violet-green swallow and acorn woodpeckers are home here, along with desert parsley and western buttercups. On the moon-like plateau, spring pools, now dry, are home to threatened fairy shrimp. Their eggs lay dormant in summer until spring when the pools form again.
Our hosts are anxious to prove to us there are green areas. The next day being clear and warm again, we set off for Crater Lake National Park, a 90-minute drive. This spectacular locale, created by the explosion and implosion of Mount Mazama about 8,000 years ago, left a crater eight kilometres wide and a lake almost 1,900 feet in depth at its deepest point.
But before one arrives at the park, a hearty late breakfast was in order at Beckie’s, a rustic setting along the Crater Lake Highway. You can pose in its giant Muskoka style chairs and visit a gift shop across the quiet highway. It was getting cool. I was in shorts and T-shirt thinking that would be fine even if the temperature dropped 10 degrees. Wrong. At Crater Lake it was 7.7 C and raining. Foggy too. We couldn’t see 50 metres from the crater rim lookout, where we were told it was a spectacular 700-foot drop to the lake and its legendary crystal clear waters. It is above 7,000 feet and out of the rain shadow. While dry in summer, in winter it gets more than 15 feet of snow.
We were not discouraged. The park ranger gave us a fine talk on its geologic history. The eruption was likely 100 times greater than that of Mount St. Helens in 1980. He told us of its spectacular views on most days.
We drove down the mountain to some sunshine, warmer temperatures and nearby Clearwater Falls. A short hike took us to the aptly named falls. The river cascades over moss-covered stones, surrounded by towering firs and cedars. Just down the road a few kilometres is Watson Falls. A fairly short, but steep hike took us to the base of the 282-foot waterfall flowing over the edge of a basalt lava flow. Again, huge ancient trees line the way or have tumbled across the small river after it’s tremendous drop. The lush ferns are easy on the eyes after the scratchy dryness of Roxy Ann Peak. The air is clean, cool, and scented by the wildflowers and cedars.
Medford isn’t the first settlement in the Rogue Valley. Nearby Jacksonville is a tourist town not unlike Niagara-on-the-Lake, but smaller and with a western theme. It was founded following the discovery of gold in 1851. It almost died when the railway came through the valley and Medford was established. But since the 1960s the locals have battled to preserve its buildings. Today it is home to upscale stores and coffee shops such as stylish Table Rock Billiard Saloon, built in 1859. They make a mean cup of java.
Also nearby is the town of Ashland, home to Southern Oregon University and the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. A stroll through sumptuous Lithia Park reveals the Haight-Ashbury vibe my brother-in-law had spoken of. A man plays sitar, young people dressed in hippy-style clothes hang out in numbers. Around the corner, we head to Oregon Cabaret Theatre for dinner and a fine performance of Chicago. The former church with its stained glass windows is a perfect theatre space.
Our final outing was to Lake of the Woods Resort just 45 minutes from town. Having risen a few thousand feet again, it is green. The lodge is set amid tall conifers. It has a marina and cabins and its clear, cool waters are a favourite with fishermen for its German brown trout, rainbow trout, bass and salmon. Kayaking was on the agenda, but high winds put a damper on that.
We barely got started, it seems, and the week was over. There were many trails left to explore, the High Table Rock hike left undone. If one wants, there is white-water rafting and more than enough wineries, and vistas to entice a longer stay. But we must return home. The green of Ontario, even after a summer drought, beckons.